


Mirror, Mirror

by dontletyourheartdistractyou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (also very vague), (more of stiles & malia though), (the pack mom stiles is very vague but still there), (this covers all the seasons we've seen with two extra bits), (this is vaguely bad friend scott i guess???), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, F/F, Implied Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Multi, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Liam Dunbar Friendship, Stiles Stilinski & Malia Tate Friendship, WARNINGS:, also, oh!, twpolyamorysaturday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontletyourheartdistractyou/pseuds/dontletyourheartdistractyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You look in the mirror and...</p><p>(Alternatively titled 'The Six Times Stiles Looked in a Mirror and The One Time He Was Stopped'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This was so hard to write! I originally had another plan for this Sat with cute Stiles shit that I will be writing, just not for today. I've been down for the last couple of days, so here's some angst.
> 
> Prompt was 'mirror'.
> 
> Edit (23/12): Thanks for 50+ kudos!

You look in the mirror and frown.

The people who know you, or think they do - the ones who aren't your friends, who aren't your loved ones - will think that someone like Stiles Stilinski wouldn't care about how he looks, but you do. Oh God, you do.

You run your hand over the buzz cut, and fiddle with the strings of your hoodie, staring at a too lanky body and lamenting your lack of any kind of attractive features.

You know Lydia, the girl who you've been in love with for years, will never notice you as anything but a nuance while you look like this, and the only person you've ever had any sort of interest to other then her - a muscular man with dark hair and broody eyes clad in a leather jacket whose name everyone should know - would never see you either, since he doesn't even know your name.

An arm slips around your shoulder, and your best friend smiles at you, a bright blinding smile mixed with a look of pure honesty in those puppy dog eyes, and says, "You look great."

You don't believe him, but you slip on your best fake smile, and you see him grin back, blinding, and you don't regret your lie for that.

But you do for everything else.

-

You look in the mirror and you cry.

The bruise and cuts on your face are still fresh, face sore and entire body hurt, and the blood on your slashes stopped a long time ago but the one on your heart is still flowing.

The tears sting but you need to let them go, need to feel something other than the pain that floods your entire body.

You wonder if the people who have overtaken your thoughts, a girl with strawberry blonde hair and a beautiful mind and a man with a broken past and too many problems, would care if they knew what happened to you.

You curse at the injuries, but even more, you curse at yourself, for not being strong enough to fight back, for not being strong enough to take it, for not being strong enough to ignore everything, for not being strong at all.

Your father slips a arm around your shoulders and whispers threats about whoever hurt you, but it does nothing to stop the alarmingly fast beating of your heart or the tears that just don't stop coming.

You tell him it's okay through the sobs.

You're obviously lying.

-

You look in the mirror and tilt your head.

Your eyes aren't red from crying, your lips aren't turned down. Instead, your face is contorted in confusion.

You pull at the front of your checkered shirt, tug at finally long strands of hair, and ponder, because you're not sure if you look good or not.

You question what Lydia will think when she sees you like this, because you haven't seen her in months and now you are going to show up with better hair and maybe even a better look - you still like to laugh about Derek's double take when he saw your hair like this for the first time, but you aren't sure if that was good or bad.

Scott claps a hand on your shoulder and tells you how amazing you look, but that makes it worse, because it's Scott, and he's supposed to say that.

You just sigh, grabbing your bag and walking out the door.

Does it really matters how your hair looks?

Yes. Yes it does.

-

You look in the mirror and weep.

Your small body shaking with each sob as you whisper out again and again the name that's going to haunt your dreams for a while. 

You're skinny, you notice, through the tears and the snot and the coughing, bones protruding out of your shoulders, visible through the flimsy shirt that was one of the only pieces of clothing that the monster didn't wear.

Your face is even worse, dark circles so prominent, eyes practically protruding, skin so pale it teeters on white, hair in a mess. 

You run a hand over your eyes, rubbing away at the tears flooding them, seeing them shake and tremble, bones still poking out, almost like they're about to tear through skin.

But somehow, the sadness and the horror and the agony is almost beautiful in a way you don't understand, but you assume it's let over from the creature that was you for some time. And that thought makes you weep even harder.

This time no one comes to your aid.

Not even Scott.

Not even your Dad.

And especially not Lydia or Derek.

You're the person who killed her best friend and destroyed everything in his path.

Why would they?

-

You look in the mirror and just stare.

Your expression blank and your eyes lacking any kind of telling emotion, something you've learned how to hide these past few months.

Your skin isn't as healthy as it used to be but its regained some of its colour, your bones no longer so prominent but you're still scarily thin, you're no longer slouched over or as small as the misery made you appear but somehow you've went from tall and semi-confident to a person who shrinks away in a crowd.

Malia stands next to you, and you share a glance, noticing the attempt at hiding her feelings that she could never just get right. She smiles down at you, a reassuring smile that comes of slightly like a grimace, but you'd share it, small and not so strained.

Malia returns it with a more genuine and warm grin, but it falters when Scott and Kira show up at your door, hand in hand, so you squeeze her shoulder for good measure, and she does the same to you when Lydia shows up, and Derek doesn't.

You're happy that this girl is your new friend.

-

You look in the mirror and curse.

The tears have since passed, agony replaced with boiling anger and plain irritation, lips spewing unhappy curses through sinful lips.

Your hair's wet and plastered to your forehead, your clothes stuck to scrawny limbs, golden eyes filled with furious tears that burn, but you don't give a shit about your appearance, and you don't think you have in some time.

In your hand is your phone and you're texting so fast it feels like your fingers are bleeding.

To: Derek, Lydia, Liam, Kira, Malia, Parrish, Brett, Mason  
From: Stiles

I'm done.

When you're done with those two words that feels like so many more, you sit and breathe heavily, hands clenched into fists, as you learn forward.

Your phones buzzes, but you ignore it and do something that you haven't ever done.

You examine every little detail, tilting your head up and dipping it down, taking in your appearance with a scrutiny Stiles some time ago never would have had. 

And you whisper some very true words, "I look like shit."

Somehow the bluntness of your own words and how they don't seem to fit this harrowing situation you're in make you laugh, and you learn back and giggle hysterically like a madman.

You'd don't notice the several missed calls.

Or maybe you do. You just don't care.

-

You look in the mirror and blink.

Malia's standing by the door, eyes burning with rage, her nails digging into her hand with barely controlled anger, and you are somewhat happy that she's protecting you from those who have hurt you - Scott, your mind says, but you push that thought away with eyes clenched shut - but at the same time you want them to see.

Liam's curled into your side, burrowed into your plaid shirt, clutching it with his hands so tight that they start to turn white, and you bury your face into his messy hair, looking into reflecting glass, and you blink, thoughts taking over.

You don't remember much from the fight before you exploded with fury. Apparently the Hale you have found yourself in love with and the Hale you became best friends with took down the Dread Doctors with the help of an angry kitsune and an easily pissed off werewolf.

You ended up watching everyone fight Theo, and you mean everyone. You never expected a chimera with bad acting skills and the aura of a pantomime villain would be so hard to defeat but it seems things turn out that way.

They're fighting; all of them. The werewolves, both alpha and beta and even omega - you doubt Peter could be considered a part of any pack, although he may be one of your only allies in this world, with similar snark and a clear favouritism towards you - a kitsune with no control, a werecoyote with too much pent up frustration, a banshee with sudden Black Widow fighting skills, a Hellhound making his way through with fire, and you, the sole human with only your wit and intelligence to survive.

It's when he attacks Liam you snap.

It's like a spark igniting inside of you; one minute he's touching Liam not-so-gently, and the next he's being slammed into a wall.

You wouldn't call yourself the mother-type - just because of the cooking and the caring and the driving everyone to school and making sure they are all okay after fights.... okay, maybe you are the mother-type - but you've always felt a nurturing side for Liam over everyone else, because he's so young and so weak sometimes.

So when he got attacked, you fucking went off it.

And threw Theo into pure concrete.

You're not sure how you did it. You just grabbed his jacket, picked him up liked he weighed nothing, and made him fly. When he came at you again, he couldn't get to you, because he started being pulled about, nothing holding him at all. Everyone stared at you like crazy when you held your hand up, until that moment. And suddenly, everything made sense.

The mountain ash. The healing. The strength. The not dying when you run with a pack of wolves.

You're magic. Or something of the sort.

The rest of it's a blur. You don't really know what happened to Theo, but you hope he doesn't make it out of the night alive, and while some may call you cruel, you want him gone. You never want him to do that to your family again.

You blink again, examining your fairly unblemished skin, watching your eyes flitter and your mouth twitch with an unexpected chuckle when Liam starts to mumble into your shoulder, sleepy.

Until the banging starts.

A loud knocking on your door, and everyone freezes, still, until Malia growls.

It's not Kira, Malia would never growl at her, so it must be someone else. 

"Who is it?" You ask, weary, and Liam glares at the door to your room.

"Derek. Lydia," Malia replies, voice thick with something like anger, only mixed with something else that you can't place. Until it hits you. Guilt. You narrow your eyes at her, wondering what the hell she's done - what she might have done passes your mind, and you really don't want to know the true answer - but there's more important matters at hand.

"Let them in," you murmur, and Liam and Malia look at you like you're crazy but at this point you can barely care. "It's okay. They haven't hurt me."

The 'yet' goes unsaid but it lies heavy in the air, as Malia opens the door with blood-stained hands from digging her claws in too deep.

Derek and Lydia are there, both tired looking with dark circles under their eyes and frowns on their faces with worry etched into their foreheads.

They look at you with a mix of hope and sadness, and mutter one thing that makes you stop, "Sorry."

"What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?" You blurt out, until it hits you and you turn and glare at the surprisingly sheepish looking brunette by the door, scolding her. "Malia."

The two you have been in love with since forever look awkward as hell and out of place, standing out like a fire in a forest, so you shake your head and smile.

"Come in," you say.

And they do.

-

You're about to look in the mirror but a hand stops you. 

"What are you doing?" Lydia asks with a raised eyebrow and you meet her gaze with an exasperated look.

"Looking in the mirror," you reply, rolling your eyes. "Obviously."

"Don't," Derek calls from the other side of the room, eyes lifting from his book to glare at your hand touching the rim of Lydia's mirror.

"Something bad happens whenever you do that," the strawberry blonde explains, prying the mirror from your hands and pressing a kiss to your furrowed brow. "You doubt yourself or cry or look vaguely depressed."

You are not about to question why they know that - they know that because they care, the voice in your head reminds you, and you have to hold back a grin at that - and you're not about to tell them how crazy they sound.

You just settle for a sigh.

"I need to check-" you start, but are cut off by Lydia's hand over your mouth.

Oh no.

It's about to start.

"You look brilliant, Stiles," she tells you. "With your fluffy hair," she runs and hand through it and pulls, which really shouldn't make you moan, but it does. "With your heart-shaped lips," she trails over them with a finger that makes you shiver. "With your beautiful eyes," you're glad when she doesn't take time to pay attention to them. "With your long fingers," her eyes glint with mischief when she tells you that one, and you try your best to block out her licking her lips. "And those fucking moles."

She starts to trail off on the last one, "I want to trail them with my tongue."

Her dreamy tone makes you choke on air, because you are meant to be going out, and you do not need that image in your head. 

Strong, sturdy arms wrap around your waist, Derek's head in your collarbone, and you are very happy when he doesn't say anything because you don't need to be any more embarrassed and if anyone keeps playing with your praise kink you're not going to going out anytime soon.

That is, until he pulls down the collar of your shirt and actually does what Lydia was fantasising about, playing connect the dots with the moles decorating your skin, and you squirm as Lydia watches with avid fascination.

The mirror goes forgotten as you are dragged off into bed, and honestly, you don't need to look anymore, because you have two wonderful people to tell you how beautiful you look.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
